“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Patrick raged when she told him. He wanted her to have an abortion. She refused. It was the one time she didn’t go along with what he wanted.
She lost the baby in the second trimester. He didn’t try to hide his relief. He brought home flowers and a bottle of champagne. “Back to plan A.” When he popped the cork, she came close to hating him.
Patrick headed into his senior year, and Grace was promoted to office manager. With her raise, she managed to put away some savings. She would need funds to go back to college. She wouldn’t have her scholarship anymore. She’d have to pay for tuition and books. With a little nest egg, she wouldn’t feel guilty about the expense, especially if they started a family. Every time she brought up the subject, Patrick said they should wait a couple more years. They were still young. He’d slaved for four years to get through school. He wanted to have some fun before they started talking about kids.
Graduation day came, and Grace felt an overwhelming pride as she sat with Patrick’s parents and her aunt Elizabeth. She and Patrick had both worked hard for this day. Patrick looked so handsome in his cap and gown. His parents boasted that he had graduated with honors. Several of his term papers were on file in the university library. Aunt Elizabeth looked pointedly at Grace. The Moores agreed Grace was the best thing that ever happened to their son, and they insisted on a celebration dinner at Lawry’s steak house. They also insisted Aunt Elizabeth join them.
The Moores ordered champagne. Aunt Elizabeth declined and drank water. Grace sipped cautiously. Patrick imbibed freely. He told stories about professors and students he’d hung out with at the student union. Grace was surprised to hear that. When his parents asked what he planned to do now that he had his degree, he said he needed a break to consider his options. His mother gave Grace a pained look. Aunt Elizabeth sat in stony silence.
He drained his glass and announced he’d joined a gym, and he’d already talked with someone in management who thought he’d make a great trainer. All he had to do was spend a couple of weeks in a course to get a certificate. Aunt Elizabeth gave a derisive snort and said he could have done that straight out of high school. When Mr. Moore agreed, Patrick poured another glass of champagne and sulked.
Embarrassed, Grace ate in silence. When had Patrick had the time or money to join a gym and get to know the management? He’d never talked about any of this with her. She felt Aunt Elizabeth watching her and tried to keep the smile on her face. She attempted to look as though nothing he said was a surprise and she was happy about the plans he’d made.
On the way out of the restaurant, Aunt Elizabeth gripped her arm and held her back. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“Know what?”
“About the student union. About the gym membership.” Aunt Elizabeth looked fierce. “Open your eyes. He’ll use you until you’re a dried-up husk, and then he’ll throw you away.”
“He’s my husband.” She couldn’t change direction now. She’d made vows.
“I know.” Her aunt turned away. “I tried to warn you.”
As soon as Grace and Patrick walked into their apartment, she asked him when he’d joined a gym and how he’d been paying for it. Patrick turned evasive. He’d gotten a really good deal. It wouldn’t cost her a dime. The way he said it made her feel like a moneygrubbing penny-pincher. She dropped the subject.
Two weeks later she came home to an empty apartment and found a note on the table.
Gone skiing with friends.
Needed a break before the certification class starts. I’ll be home Sunday night.
Enjoy church. Love, Patrick
Enjoy church? Easter Sunday was the last time she’d gone. She’d left halfway through the service because she couldn’t hide the tears streaming down her face. And they hadn’t been tears of joy. Every time she tried to talk to God, she felt her words bounce back off the ceiling. Why should God listen to her prayers? She hadn’t listened to Him. She missed the friend who had come to her when she was a terrified, lonely child. She hadn’t heard his voice since the day she gave herself to Patrick.
Skiing was an expensive sport, and Patrick wasn’t working. Suspicious, Grace logged onto the savings account. He’d withdrawn five hundred dollars of her hard-earned school savings. She dug her fingers into her hair and wept.
Hurt and angry, Grace confronted Patrick when he came home Sunday night. He dumped his duffel bag and said he knew she would say no, so he hadn’t asked. Why should he have to ask? He was an adult, not a child, and they were married. That money was as much his as hers. He could do what he wanted when he wanted.
When she said she wished she had the same privileges, he cursed at her. He’d worked four long, hard years to earn his degree. Some of his friends were going to Europe for the summer. It was bad enough he was stuck in Los Angeles and had nothing to look forward to but a nine-to-five job, without having a nagging wife waiting to harangue him the minute he walked through the door.
His anger frightened her. He kept advancing until he backed her against the sink. Heart pounding, she apologized. He wasn’t finished. He said she’d turned into a drudge. All he’d done was go away for three days and have some fun for a change. Maybe he’d go again! Maybe he’d stay away longer next time!
By the time Patrick finished his rant, the seed of fear was firmly planted. He hadn’t touched her, but she sensed he’d wanted to hit her. Grace didn’t say anything more. When they went to bed, Patrick turned his back to her. She lay in the darkness, weeping silently, trying not to move a muscle lest she disturb him.
Lord, what have I done? What have I done?
Patrick slept soundly, and Grace knew they’d crossed a line. She was afraid of what lay on the other side. When she finally slept, she dreamed of her mother and father and awakened drenched in cold sweat. Her inner child wanted to drag a blanket and pillow off the bed and hide in the closet.
She survived the next few days, putting in extra hours at work to help her boss, Harvey Bernstein, finish a big project. He commented on her pallor. “Is everything all right, Grace?” She assured him everything was fine. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” A bonus would have been nice, but Harvey gave her a half day off on Friday. Maybe she and Patrick could sort everything out over the weekend.
Unlocking the apartment door, Grace walked in and found Patrick on the couch with a shapely blonde, neither wearing much of anything. They sprang apart. The girl grabbed her clothes and fled into the bedroom.
Patrick stood. “What’re you doing home?” His face went from red to white. “You’re supposed to be at work.” He pulled on sweatpants.
Grace looked from him to the bedroom door and back again, speechless.
“You weren’t supposed to be here.” Patrick sounded annoyed.
Dazed, Grace stammered, “H-Harvey gave me the afternoon off.”
The girl came out of the bedroom, her perfect body encased in pink-and-black spandex. Even her socks and aerobics shoes matched. Without looking at Grace, she hurried to the front door, then quickly retraced her steps to grab her pink jacket off the arm of the couch. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was a husky whisper. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”
Find out what? Grace stood in the middle of her own personal apocalypse.
Opening the front door, the girl slipped out, but not quick enough for Grace to miss the gym logo on the jacket she pulled on or the pleading look she gave Patrick. Grace stared at her husband. “She works at the gym you joined?”
“Her father owns it.” He sounded resigned. “Look.” He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a heavy breath. “Can we sit down like civilized people and talk this out?”
She knew what he would say even before he started making excuses, but she listened anyway. Patrick said he didn’t intend to fall in love with Virginia, but she’d come on strong to him when he joined the gym. At first it was a harmless flirtation, but he and Grace had been having problems by then. “You do
n’t like sex, Grace, and Virginia, well . . .” They had a lot in common.
Grace was always on him about finding a job, so why not work at the gym part-time, even if only to pay for his membership? He got along well with people. He made a lot of friends. Virginia’s father noticed. He dropped hints about future possibilities. He said he wanted to retire and hoped his daughter would find a nice, outgoing, ambitious young man who would stand beside her and run the business.
Patrick talked and talked, the words pouring over Grace like hot lava. She understood what he was saying. Patrick had loved her for a while, but she didn’t have enough to offer anymore. He’d found someone who did. “I couldn’t help myself, Grace. Virginia is my soul mate. Try not to hate me. It’s not my fault.”
The initial shock and pain turned to numbness. Grace felt nothing.
“Okay. Don’t say anything.” Patrick grew angry at her silence. “I guess it’d be too much to expect some understanding.”
Grace sat at the kitchen table while her husband packed. Part of her wanted to beg him to stay, beg him to love her, beg him for a second chance. Another part kept her silent and frozen in her chair, her eyes fixed on the plates he and Virginia had left on the table, one with a few crumbs and the other with a half-eaten deli sandwich.
She was Patrick’s wife. Shouldn’t she fight for her marriage? Say something, Grace. Speak up before it’s too late. Don’t just sit there and let him walk out the door.
Another voice gently whispered inside her heart. Forgive him and let him go.
ROMAN GRABBED THE TOWEL he’d draped over the arm of the treadmill and wiped sweat from his face. His T-shirt was soaked. Something was off. He’d only run three miles and felt like he’d run a marathon. Cutting the speed, he walked another mile to cool down before shutting off the machine. Stepping off the tread, he felt light-headed. The moment passed, but left him weak. Maybe he was dehydrated. He uncapped another bottle of water with electrolytes and drank it. He’d skip the weights.
Ah, for the good old days when he did parkour in San Francisco. His graffiti had been in heaven spots, high and dangerous places, where his work stayed longer than the usual few days for other taggers. His initials, BRD, gained him a reputation as the Bird.
The pleasurable memories gave way to thoughts of White Boy. He redirected his thoughts.
The only adrenaline kick he got these days came from the endorphins he earned working out. Maybe age was the problem. Today was his birthday, not that anyone knew or cared. He was thirty-four. How should he celebrate the passage of another year? Look for a hookup in a club? Sex with a stranger didn’t have the appeal it once did.
A cold shower refreshed him, but didn’t alter his mood. He raised his face to the spray and thought he heard his cell phone ring. Who would be calling him on a Sunday?
With nothing else to do, Roman went into the studio and dabbed some more paint on the canvases set up near the windows. He wanted to put his fist through one, but tossed the brush into a can of linseed oil instead. He sat at his drafting table and sketched ideas. Crumpled papers littered the floor.
His cell phone rang, and Jasper Hawley’s face appeared. His teacher, counselor, and mentor at Masterson Ranch called every month or two, checking up on him. He visited now and then, too, although it had been a while since Roman had seen him.
“Keeping tabs on me, Hawley? Why don’t you come on down and do it?”
“Is that a real invitation? I’m in Oxnard. I can stay over at your place tonight. I haven’t seen the new house yet.”
“Sure, just don’t have a bed.”
“Still the minimalist. I have a sleeping bag in my trunk.”
“What’s in Oxnard?”
“Visiting one of my lost boys who just got out of prison. Speaking of lost boys, isn’t today your birthday?”
Roman relaxed, pleased. “Have you been poking through my juvie records again?”
“I have all the pertinent facts memorized. See you soon.”
Roman went downstairs and sprawled on the couch in the living room, sketching ideas in the black book he kept there.
Awakening to the door chimes, Roman cursed. First thing he’d have Grace do Monday morning was find someone to replace the annoying chimes with a short, functional bell. A straightforward ding-dong would be great. The chimes were still going strong when he opened the door. Jasper stood there laughing.
“Love the chimes. A Viennese waltz? Let me guess. Not your idea.”
Roman tried to overcome his shock at Jasper’s appearance. His mentor had lost weight, and his hair had gone white. “Man, you got old.”
“And you’re still the same smart aleck you’ve always been.” Jasper walked in, suitcase in hand. “Quite a place you’ve got here. Holy Jehoshaphat! Look at that view! Perfect setup for an artist.”
“If I painted landscapes.”
Jasper glanced back. “Why did you leave that sweet place in Malibu? Open a sliding-glass door, and there was the beach and all those pretty, bikini-clad girls walking by.”
“I needed a change.” The condo held one night of memories he couldn’t forget and a host of questions he’d never be able to answer about a girl he’d tried to find and knew he’d never see again.
Jasper shook his head. “I keep hoping you’ll grow up and settle down.”
Roman drove his red Camaro to a seafood diner in Malibu. Nothing much had changed for Jasper. He was still teaching at the Masterson Mountain Ranch and keeping tabs on the boys who would let him. He cared about what happened to every one of them. Most finished the program and moved on. A few stayed in touch. Some called when they were in trouble, like the young man in Oxnard. Jasper had a few extra days. “I figure I ought to live it up.”
Troubled, Roman gave in. “What is wrong with you? You’ve lost about fifty pounds since I last saw you. And don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”
“Nothing wrong with me now. I went through chemo.”
Roman lost his appetite. He looked at Jasper and didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t bury me yet. I went into the hospital with a colon and came out with a semicolon.” Jasper’s grin died. “That was supposed to be a joke.”
“Ha-ha.”
Jasper rubbed his head. “My hair is growing back. That’s something.”
“All white.”
“I think I look distinguished. You’re not getting rid of me yet. The tests have been clear, and I’m feeling good.” He patted his stomach. “Looking good, too. I’m keeping the weight off and walking a couple of miles a day. Funny thing about cancer. It reminded me I’m mortal. It doesn’t make sense to put off the things I want to do.”
Jasper talked. Roman tried to listen. Troubled, he thought about death. He’d lost his mother and the only friends he’d ever cared about. It was safer not to care. Less painful.
“Bobby Ray Dean.”
The name jarred Roman. “No one has called me that in ages.”
“You’ve come a long way, son, but you still don’t know who you are or what you want, do you?”
“More.”
Jasper folded his arms on the table. “More of what?”
“Life. Meaning.” He wished he knew.
They went back to the Topanga Canyon house. Roman gave Jasper the grand tour. Jasper offered the paintings on easels a cursory look and made no comment. Roman could guess what he thought. Problem was, Roman agreed.
Jasper picked up one of the crumpled papers scattered across the studio floor and opened it. He picked up a few more. Roman knew what they were. Sketches of a gang kid in a leather jacket leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, a young boy looking out a bay window, a naked girl with her back to the viewer, her long hair curling down to her waist. “These are good, Roman. Ever think about doing a show?”
“I’ll probably do one this summer.”
Jasper glanced at the three unfinished paintings on easels. “You don’t have to limit yourself to modern art.”
“The pay is
good.” Roman leaned against his drafting table. “I have no illusions. I took your advice and went to Europe. Remember? I’ve seen the masters. I even left a calling card at the Louvre.”
“Calling card?”
“Never mind.” The Bird had left a piece of work glued among the masters—a winking owl perched on a pine branch. He jerked his head toward the easels. “That’s the best I can do.”
“I doubt that.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of people out there like to think they know art. I figured out what sells.”
They headed downstairs. Roman opened a couple of sodas. Jasper looked around the living room with the huge black sectional couch, massive modern table, and big-screen television mounted on the wall. “It’s pretty Spartan, even for a bachelor.”
“Haven’t had time to decorate.”
“You need a wife.”
Roman gave a derisive laugh. “For what?”
“Companionship. Comfort. Have some children.”
“You aren’t married. You don’t have kids.”
“Cheryl and I were married for twenty-four years, the happiest of my life, before she died. We wanted to have children. It just never happened.” He smiled. “That’s why I’m so attached to you.”
“Bull.”
“I’d get married again, if I met the right woman. Up to now, no one comes close to the one I had.”
Roman thought of Grace Moore.
“Chet and Susan want to know when you’re coming home for a visit.”
The Mastersons had been the closest thing to family Bobby Ray Dean had ever known. “I’m sure they have a full house, just like they always did.”
“Fewer these days, and you were special.” When Roman didn’t say anything, Jasper changed the subject. “So, you gave up doing murals.”
“I’ve got one more. In San Diego. I found someone to do the fill work. I’ll be heading down soon to add in the details. Hector will apply the protective coat. Saves me a lot of time, and I can get on to other things.”
“Hector?”
The Masterpiece Page 6